Something Different in Mind
by The Readers Muse
Summary: It was the silence that he'd noticed first; that odd, unnaturally muted hush that seemed to permeate the entire countryside in a stifling layer of rot-ridden stillness. It was the type of silence that reminded him of the sort of trickery that inevitably resulted from some sort of evil wrong doing or misguided spell. Something that came right out of the story books...


**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This story centers on Hershel and his thoughts on the infection both pre-season two and after the group's arrival at the farm. I have always wondered what the Green Family got up too before the arrival of the main group, so more or less, this my version.

**Warnings:** Contains no major warnings save for mature content, religious content, and season two spoilers. The story and indeed the title for this work comes from Hershel's line in the season two finale when he mentioned that he'd always assumed that God had something different in mind for the 'end of days.'

**Something Different in Mind**

It was the silence that he'd noticed first; that odd, unnaturally muted hush that seemed to permeate the entire countryside in a stifling layer of rot-ridden stillness. It was the type of silence that reminded him of the sort of trickery that inevitably resulted from some sort of evil wrong doing or misguided spell. Something that came right out of the story books and imaginations of the young, like the kind of stories he'd read to his children when they'd been small.

And ironically enough, he'd welcomed it. Because for the longest time it had seemed as though the world would never be quiet again. Because as far removed as they were, even they hadn't been spared the sounds. …The dull roar of humanity eating itself alive.

Many people had called it the end of days, others a virus. Either way, it had been slow to build, but utterly explosive when it had reached its peak. It had been unmistakable, inescapable, and horrible beyond measure. And it had taken from them just as it had taken from the rest of the country, taken almost more than he could bear. …Than _they _could bear.

For better or for worse, they'd inadvertently gotten a front row seat as the dark plumes of distant explosions had risen in the distance. Lighting up the sky long after twilight as the cities had burned. They were days that had eventually turned into weeks, and every single hour that had passed them by was marked by the sound of distant car horns, cut off screams, and muffled gun shots.

And while he wasn't one to question the natural order of things, as the cacophonous noise had risen and fallen, repeating again and again until he couldn't find it in him to listen any more. The sound of those awful screams and pitching moans had seemed a whole lot like some sort of penance. …A penance for surviving, a penance for being one of the _lucky _ones.

It had continued on like that for perhaps a week, maybe three. Until gradually, the sounds of the dead and the dying tapered off, and that damned, all-consuming silence trailed in its wake. But the truth was that regardless of how wrong it was to say, when the silence had finally descended, it'd felt a whole lot like a blessing.

He could still remember the day the television and radios had gone out. They'd been sitting down to dinner when the lights in the dining room had suddenly flickered and died. Throwing the entire house into darkness as Beth had screamed and upset the gravy boat. Sending the table in a panic as people fumbled around for towels and napkins. Nearly drowning out the distant boom as the power station forty miles east of them suddenly exploded into an arcing halo of fire. The smell of singed wires and burnt metal wafting in on the evening breeze as they'd gathered on the front porch. Ears peeled for the sound of a siren.

But there had been no one. No ambulance, no fire trucks, no police, no military. Nothing.

There had been a tightness around Maggie's eyes that night. Fixing him with a look so much like her mother's as she'd gotten up to fetch the candles that it'd been almost painful for him look upon. It was the same look her mother had given him; lord only knows how many times when she was alive. Mostly for the nights when he'd come home with bourbon on his breath. For those lonely nights years before Maggie had been born when he'd come home to find the living room sofa made up and the bedroom door locked. And in the morning, often far earlier than was their habit, he'd find that same look on her face as she took one look at him and brewed an extra strong pot of coffee for good measure. An enigma of softness and caring that melded together strangely with her angry green eyes and the frown lines that marred her delicate, lightly freckled skin whenever she was forced to look his way.

Maggie had looked at him that night like she'd wanted to say something but had thought better of it. Her red bitten lips narrowing downwards as the low light had highlighted the contours of her face - turning it gaunt and skeleton-like as the shadows around her eyes had slowly deepened. It had taken days for her mood to lift, not until he'd caught Beth and Jimmy necking behind the tool shed and had nearly blown a gasket trying to be civil about it. Maggie and Patricia had traded amused glances long into the evening, while Jimmy and Beth had made themselves suitably scarce after the dinner dishes – likely sulking in their respective rooms and mentally taking him to task for his 'old fashioned attitudes' and high minded ideals no doubt.

Still, he has to admit that when he looks back on that moment at dinner, he is hard pressed not to take it as some sort of sign. But a sign of what, he didn't know. He'd never really let himself dwell on it to be honest, too afraid that he already knew the answer.

But as the days and weeks had slipped past, it wasn't just the silence that he noticed. No, it was more than that. There was a certain absence to the countryside that had never been there before. Hell, even the skies were clearer now. Less cars and planes polluting the atmosphere, he supposed. Either way, something had changed - something tangible. Because there was rawness to the air that he was sure hadn't been there before. And not only that, but it was _growing_, turning musky and wild with every passing day.

It took longer than he cared to admit to figure it out. But eventually he did. Nature was taking the world back, piece by piece. Reducing it back down to what it had been before. Long before mankind had seen fit to get uppity and start messing around with things they shouldn't have.

The signs were all there. The world had changed. Only he hadn't wanted to admit it.

He knew it was human nature to resist change. He knew that better than most. Maybe that was why he'd been so desperate for the group to leave. Why he'd been so set on seeing them off as soon as Rick's boy had healed. It was because deep down he'd known that their arrival represented more than just some unlucky hunting accident or sadistic coincidence, but rather a message.

It was a message that had been delivered right onto his very door step and had told him in no uncertain terms that the world had changed. It had told him that the world had changed and it _wasn't_ getting better. It told him that the world beyond that stand of trees that made up the edge of his property had grown cruel rather than kind. That it there was no order, no government, no plan, and no cure. And perhaps most importantly, it told him that they needed to change along with it if they wanted to survive.

Only he'd resisted. He'd put blinders on to the truth and he'd let it stay that way until it was almost too late. He had no one to blame but himself for that, and he knew it. In fact, he took on that burden willingly. Letting it serve as a reminder that delusions and wishful thinking were no substitute for the truth. No matter how harsh or unthinkable that truth might be.

And while retrospect is rarely kind, even he could understand it. Fear and denial are powerful emotions. They paralyze us with possibilities and treat us harshly when the truth, for better or for worse, is finally revealed. And like every evil thing that had ever come out of Pandora's Box, they were emotions that had only spread.

After all, for a time things had continued on much like they always had. Before Rick and the others and everything that had come after. They'd had each other then, the farm. Everyone had pitched in and did what had to be done. Jimmy and Otis had minded the farm, while Maggie, Beth and Patricia had kept everything else from running into complete disrepair. In spite of their losses, in spite of the hardship, they'd made it work.

In a word, they'd had just about everything they needed to make it through whatever the hell this was. He'd thanked god for that. And he thought they could ride it out the same way. _…Alone._

But then Rick had come running through the front pasture. A gory mess of blood splattered skin and panicked eyes as he'd held his son in his arms. And he'd known, deep down, that everything was about to change, because that was the moment where he'd first entertained the idea that he could be _wrong_.

It was all there. You just had to know where to look. Because he saw an end to everything they'd been holding onto in the dark circles that had taken up residence underneath their eyes. In the gauntness of their cheeks and the haunted expression that sometimes passed across their faces when conversation grew scarce. He saw it in the way they stared at lit rooms and something as simple as a cold glass of homemade lemonade. They stared like they were gifts from God _himself_. And as the days had trickled past, part of him had wanted to weep. He hadn't trusted them then, but he_ had_ sympathized.

Maggie had been right to chastise him that day in the dining room. Speaking low so that Carol and Lori couldn't hear as they'd puttered around in the kitchen. Chattering on about all manner of things as he'd tried and ultimately failed to put his foot down. He'd been so dead set on them leaving, so set on seeing only the ill in them that he'd forgotten what they were.

He'd seen them for what they _could_ have been, rather than what they _were_. They weren't marauders or freeloaders. They were a group, a _family _that was just trying to survive and ride this thing out the same as they were. The only difference was that life had been kinder to him and his kin rather than the other way around.

They were a group made up of varying degrees of difference. There was Rick, a small town sheriff. A man who'd had the responsibility of leadership thrust upon him rather than it being a decision made of his own free will. A back road's country boy with a chip on his shoulder and a soft spot he refused to acknowledge despite nearly getting himself killed looking for a little girl that wasn't even his own flesh and blood. A hot headed deputy whose dark green eyes revealed more lies and mistruths than he figured anyone had a right to. And a handful of others that when placed together made up that of a family, a dysfunctional and divided family, but a family all the same.

All else considered, it certainly wasn't what he envisioned when he'd woken up at three in the morning that first night to the sound of Otis's truck streaking down the driveway. Balding tires skidding across the gravel like the hounds of hell were chasing after them. Nor what he'd expected in the scheme of things when he'd nearly gotten bowled over by Beth in the parlor when Jimmy had shown up on the front porch nearly five days after the infection had spread into the heart of Georgia. Blood stained, dehydrated, and exhausted as the others had sat him down by the fire place. Plying him with leftovers and sweet tea until he'd regained enough of himself to tell them how he'd gotten away.

And truth be told, having a score of strangers show up on his property and start setting up house in his front yard hadn't exactly been his idea of an ideal arrangement either. After all, up until the point where they'd ruined the intricate fantasy he'd created for himself, he'd had every intention of sending them on their way and dealing with the moral consequences of that decision later. Safe in the knowledge that nothing had changed. A cure would eventually be found and the world could go back to doing what it did best. …_Living._

Only none of that had actually happened. Instead his eyes had been opened and for the first time since this entire sickness had fallen upon them, he realized that Rick was right. That this _was _different, and that hope he'd been holding on to, the _people_ he'd been holding on to were beyond both him and time to heal.

He'd like to say he'd handled it gracefully. But unfortunately he knew better. When it came down to it, hope was a tricky thing to lose. He'd bet all his cards on a slim chance, a chance that the government had a handle on this crisis and that it was only going to be a matter of time before humanity bounced back. Only this time someone had called his bluff.

There was no one coming. Not the government. Not the military. Those things didn't even exist anymore. There was no plan. No cure and more importantly, no indication that some higher power was going to come down and save them from themselves. They were alone, divided, and few.

…But then again, he'd never once professed to knowing the Lord's plan in all of this. He simply had to trust that there actually _was _one in the first place.

And so far, their almighty father hadn't been very forth coming about either.

* * *

**A/N #1: **Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! This story is now complete.

_"You will find peace not by trying to escape your problems, but by confronting them courageously. You will find peace not in denial, but in victory."_ - J. Donald Walters


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